myth for butterfly pea

There is a veil between this world and the others. If you look closely, if you move slowly - just so - you’ll see the air begin the ruffle and expand like feathers. No - like vines. You will wonder how you had never seen this growth before. You will be able to see that some light comes through the translucent entanglements and it won't be difficult for you to lift an opening in the air.

There will be the ocean spread out before you, and a sky that moves with soft eddies of stars. The ocean will, of course, be the ocean. And the moon, the moon, but they will be different too. You will realize that this is a different world, but it is part of the world. That every world is our world. Each one is the dream of a plant. Throughout all of time the flora wove their roots, and extended their bacterial relationships subtly throughout every single world. You are astounded to realize abundance was never a word that could encapsulated all there is.

“Who gave me permission to understand this glory?” you whisper under your breath.

“The flowers.” comes a barely intelligible response.

Growing from barely visible vines in the air on the shore, over the ancient rocks, are oval flowers with the grace of pigeons. They illuminate blue from within. These flowers are the beacon to this place. The hum a tune of little blue hills like shepherds calling their sheep, like bees humming.

You kneel to touch the dark earth and leave two tears in the soil. You decide to teach that flowers sing doorways, you know the soil on your hand will never truly come off. When you are very old, in a wooden rocking chair, you will look at your hands and see mushrooms.